The tide flows, yet it is unimportant,
Is anything important?
Are we all an illusion?
Amidst the confusion,
This world, that is the confusion,
Amidst the world we wash ashore
Distant memories like the beating of a heart,
Back in the past we prepare to regret,
Here in the present we create things upon which to regret,
In the future regret waits,
And everything is for a reason,
Perhaps it is, perhaps it is,
Who is right?
Who is wrong?
Do they hold within them something more?
Nothing is for certain upon the shore,
Within the sand that buries the heart,
Within the past that is filled with regret,
There is no knowledge here,
There is no knowledge anywhere,
No one is right and no one is wrong,
Therefore how can something be learned?
Taught from another that could be right or wrong,
But how do they know?
How does anyone know?
Can we know?
Or is knowing impossible?
Is anything impossible?
Questions do no good,
They breed more questions,
An endless tide of questions,
We’re drowning in them,
We’re drowning in our questions,
Washing ashore vague answers,
But those answers are illusions,
Just questions in disguise,
Feed the fire burning in our eyes,
A sea of torment burning within us,
A world of the sea,
An ocean of the world,
And the sands of time rests,
Barely there but still present
At the bottom of our hearts,
Our hearts, the tide,
That ebb and flow,
Wash ashore all that we know,
And at the same time
All that we don’t


(it is merely a concept poem, not really anything serious, it is late and I needed something to occupy my time so I wrote this, I read it back and am not really satisfied, though the imagery is alright I suppose, more a poem of depth, you really have to read into it to find the meaning)

I loved it DarkPoet.